The odor of damp, new-mown grass filled the room and another more elusive scent mingled with it. Entry of June 3rd, 2068, said an impersonal, mechanical voice, from the journal of Thomas Dyall, elected World's First Poet Laureate in 2089. A warm rich bass took over:
This morning I rode far out to reach open countryside in the preserved areas to replenish my stock of sensory experiences. As I was walking along through the woods, the most delicious scent struck my nostrils. I immediately recognized new-mown grass in it but the factor making the true difference escaped me until I realized the faint odor belonged to roses. At that point, my senses reeling with delight, I composed in my mind most of my long poem, The Nature of Nature, grasping intuitively an experience more intense, more valuable, than any "real" one. I say intuitively because I still thought the odor was merely that of grass and roses. A minute afterwards, though, I came into a clearing, spotted a forest ranger's cottage there and discovered that the scent was from a recently-improved insecticide that the ranger's wife was using in the living room. There was little grass in the area and not a single rose!
The following note, interrupted the monotone voice, was added by the author in the year 2116:
Here in "real" life the great guiding principle of my future was brought home to me. The well-done imitation of a thing was better than the thing itself! This was the lesson I had to disseminate for all humanity.
"Interesting," Tinker said, "although we all know now that one thing cannot be substituted for. Also—"
"No discussion now," pleaded Smith. "You need a while to consider all that. Anyway, I've been thinking about your bill, Stahl. That wasn't a fold on Washington's eyelid, just a tiny inkstain. It's genuine."
"It can't be," Stahl snapped and angrily led them back to the first room. "Tinker, I want you as my witness."
He handed the bill around and Smith had to concede it was really counterfeit. "What's that next one?" he asked.
"A ten." Stahl hesitated, then took it off the pile along with three others and passed them to the visitors, showing off fine points of imitation. When he collected the bills he carefully made certain there were still five and locked them up again.
"What about another drink?" Smith asked hastily.